


The Chase

by manatee_patronus



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show
Genre: F/M, Kink, Smut, Stream of Consciousness, Tickling, fantasy on "you better wise up Janet Weiss" chase scene, pursuit and capture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 17:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15868533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manatee_patronus/pseuds/manatee_patronus
Summary: Shy and sexually-inexperienced Wendy decides to attend a mysterious sex party with the hope of exploring a tickling fetish that she has kept secret all of her life. She soon meets Dr. Frankenfurter, the enigmatic host of the party, who endeavors to charm the secret out of her...





	The Chase

**Author's Note:**

> I have wanted to write a fan-fiction about Rocky Horror Picture Show for a while since it's a film whose erotic power fascinates me. I watched it for the first time as a teenager, when I was still discovering my own preferences, and like many people, I was instantly bewitched by Tim Curry's character (Dr. Frankenfurter). The scene where he chases Janet through the house ("You better wise up, Janet Weiss") was probably the most erotic moment for me, and this fan-fiction is essentially my personal fantasy variation on that theme.
> 
> As an additional note: I don't usually write in first-person, the present tense, or narrative verse. This was a very stream-of-consciousness, for-my-own-enjoyment kind of fic, so I totally understand if you don't like it. But as always, I love hearing my readers' thoughts, so feel free to comment!

 

I decide to visit the house

because my friend told me that the wildest sex parties happen there,

with a variety of kinks and fetishes represented.

My friend doesn't know this about me, but I have a kink

that I'd like to try out, and this party might be

the perfect opportunity.

 

The party is quite tame when I arrive.

Everyone is mulling about in leather, lingerie, and glitter;

socializing; and eating the hors d'oeuvres on the tables around the room.

I grab a plastic plate and gather some crackers, cheese, and meat

and a few slices of fruit. I drink from a small water bottle I found in a cooler

as I talk with a cute, nerdy, bespectacled man.

It is also his first time. He's never had much luck

with vanilla dating, and so he is here to swing

(I'm too embarrassed to tell him why I'm here).

I feel him building up the nerve to ask me if I'd like to be

one of his "dance" partners, so I swiftly wish him

good luck and excuse myself to the restroom -

it's nothing personal, I just can't think of anything

less sexy than sex.

 

 _The bathroom_ , a monotone, somber-faced man tells me,

_is down the long hall, past the elevator, and on the left._

I wonder how many floors this place has as I pass the elevator.

It is very quiet in the hallway,

compared with the room I just left. On the right,

an archway leads to a magnificent library

with ladders and at least one loft level. I want to explore,

but it is not my house, so I continue on.

I look at my plain face

in the oval mirror above the sink.

I worry I'll be a disappointment

to most of the people here.

 

When I return to the main room, I stand in between groups,

idly eavesdropping. The somber-faced man

is watching me without any particular expression.

When I notice, I give him a little wave

and a quick, absurd grin, showing my teeth.

He does not react, except to eat a stalk of celery

thoughtfully.

 

Near the hallway to the bathroom, cries of welcome

well up and spread around the room like a wave.

They die down and the room becomes silent enough

for me to hear the clack of high heels on the floor

a few seconds before a bony man in a leather corset, our host,

enters the room, grinning around at all assembled.

I marvel at how he walks so confidently like he's on a catwalk,

all the while wearing those break-neck, high-heeled boots.

He waves at people as he recognizes them and calls out greetings

that I can no longer hear, as the room has started

talking amongst itself again. But I see his eyes,

seductive and ironic, and a mouth that,

when he bares his teeth in a grin, looks devilishly spontaneous.

Almost like every smile should be captioned, "You'll never guess

the delicious things

that I'm about to do to you..."

 

His general greetings concluded, he starts working his way

methodically around the room, greeting each group

more individually. He kisses many, embraces some,

fluffs the hair of others as he passes by.

I feel an erotic panic. I am not part of any group right now,

and I sense that this will lead to me getting picked on somehow.

It is too late to embed myself in a group,

and in any case, people are starting to pair (or group) off,

forming piles on the mats and air mattresses

that I didn't notice earlier around the room,

others exiting through the doors along the walls -

they must be the regulars and know their way

to the more luxurious bedrooms.

 

He’s a group away now and all I can do

is try to make myself look small. It doesn’t work

very well. I turn away

and pretend to be very interested in a painting

on the opposite wall.

 

“Someone call the gardener!” a low voice crows behind me,

long on the vowels and sparse on the r’s.

With a shiver, I feel my hair scooped off the back of my neck.

“We can’t have unattended wallflowers at the party.”

The host walks around my left side and allows

my hair to cascade over the front of my shoulder. As his hand drops,

his middle finger grazes the length of my arm and draws goosebumps.

“Hello there,” he says warmly, looking me intensely in the eyes.

“Hello,” I blush and smile and drop my eyes. “Thanks for having me

in your lovely home.”

“So kind! The pleasure’s all mine, dear,” he coos. He picks up my hand

and holds it aloft like a gentleman preparing

to kiss his lady’s hand. “My name

is Frank or Dr. Frankenfurter, whichever you like. And whom

do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“My name is Wendy,” I say shyly. “Nice to meet you.”

I suppress a gasp of surprised pleasure as he does press his lips

to the top of my wrist, never breaking his intense eye contact,

and then plants two more slow, deliberate kisses

in the middle of my forearm,

and then the crook of my elbow.

 

“I’m enchanted to know you, Wendy. Now tell me,”

he steps to my side and throws an arm around my shoulders,

gesturing at the debauchery that is now happening all

around the room. “What fantasy brings you to the party today?

Rough sex? Gang bangs?” he turns his face to me, raises his eyebrows, and murmurs seductively, “Anal?”

I grin and shake my head. “Not...those things, no.”

 

“Oooh I see,” he says in a low, primal voice,

facing me again, his expression

a portrait of dawning comprehension.

Again, that exquisite grin that makes me feel

like a snack in this moment. “You’re kinky.

How rare and...delicious.”

 

I shiver from head to foot. As bashful as I am,

there’s no point in denying my kinkiness now -

my sudden case of frisson was surely a dead give-away.

_Now, is this man clever or crafty enough to_

_bewitch the specifics out of me?_ My shyness

giving way to unusual playfulness,

I say, “Rare? I was told that this

party was Kink Central.”

 

He throws back his head

and laughs from somewhere deep within his throat,

a lewd, arousing sound. “Were you?

It might be that for most people

with average sexual lives,

the idea of any kind of sex party,

any kind of communal sexual experience,

would be kinky. In reality,”

he lowers his voice and speaks

with theatrical confidentiality. “There aren’t

many people here who are kinky in the sense

that they favor some act alternative

to intercourse. But don’t worry,”

he brushes a strand of hair off my face.

“I’m plenty kinky

for everyone in this room.”

 

I blush and drop my eyes again,

crossing my arms. He starts to walk

a slow, sensual circle around me.

“You're an interesting girl,” I smell his scent

as he walks by,

musky and intoxicating.

“I sense something

sweet and sexy

bubbling up within you,

something you've kept hidden

like a jewel.

But you'll learn soon

that we don't keep secrets long here.

Tell me: What's your pleasure?”

 

He is standing very close and his eyes

bore into mine and a smirk

plays about his lips

as he keeps walking that partial circle around me.

 

“I...um…”

I can't think because he is very close behind me now

and his breath raises goosebumps

on the back of my neck.

Still behind me, he wraps his arms slowly

around my waist

and grinds his bony hips against me.

His nose and lips graze up the side of my neck

and he whispers near my earlobe,

"What's the matter? Having trouble concentrating?"

 

I giggle and writhe in his arms

and let out an unconscious moan.

I am unaware of my movements and uprightness

for a moment because his breath and lips

are tickling my bare ear.

When the sensation stops, I find that my feet are

no longer supporting me -

in my little struggle, I must have almost tripped

and he has caught me, still holding me up

with his grip around my waist.

I notice I am humming with pleasure.

"Oooh," he says, in a low voice,

"What was that ? Let me see something..."

Slowly, one of his hands slides down over my stomach

into my pants

and between my legs.

I widen my legs for him, trembling with bliss,

as his finger draws a gentle line along my labia

dipping in just a tiny teasing bit

to feel how

extraordinarily

wet I am.

 

Instantly, his lips are back on my neck,

and I am instinctively shrugging against

his tickling breath, scrunching my neck.

“Mmm so....you like to laugh? How fun.

What a truly delightful fetish you have...”

I am laughing heartily now; he is gaining a sense

of how to brush his lips against me so as to

heighten the sensation, and he has found how

devastatingly ticklish my jawline is.

“Stop!” I blurt out automatically as I wriggle

against him.

He raises his lips to my ear and whispers,

“Oh, but I don’t want to...and I don’t think

that you want me to, either…”

the taunt in my sensitive ear

sends me over the edge

and I suddenly break free of his arms,

simultaneously relieved and aroused.

As I stumble away a few steps,

I look back and see the devilish grin on his face again

and notice that his legs are slightly bent and his arms

are outstretched toward me.

I realize instantly that he intends to chase me -

I laugh in panicked ecstasy and begin to weave my way around the tables

and the piles of fornicating people.

Despite the fact that I am wearing flats, I still feel like

he is somehow gaining on me in his heels.

 

I giggle madly as I run into the hall and past the elevator.

I realize that I want him to catch me, once I’m cornered and out of breath,

to subdue me with his superior strength,

and make me breathless all over again with laughter,

but the peril of the chase is erotic in itself,

like foreplay, and I don’t want it to end prematurely.

So I run like hell while he calls after me teasingly,

“Wait up, Wendy...Is it just your ears and neck

or are there other tickle spots?”

I’ve just dashed up a staircase and we are facing each other

on opposite sides of the hall, with the stairwell between us.

I start to run first one way, and then another,

he, mirroring my movements on the far side of the hall,

looking my body up and down

like it is something he wants to eat.

Unlike mine, his movements are not panicked:

they are entirely playful and controlled -

it’s clear he’s enjoying the chase and he is confident

in his imminent victory.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he commits to running to his right

in order to make it to my side of the hall -

I squeak with terror and run to my own right side,

frantically looking at the doors and openings that I pass for another outlet.

 

Several of the doors along this hall are cracked and I hear

orgasmic moans coming from them and occasionally

glimpse a tangle of legs and arms…

Now on the side of the hall that he was just on,

the clack of his heels not far behind me,

I pass a doorway that is dark

and I catch a brief impression of stairs -

I skid to a halt,

backtrack a few steps,

throw open the door,

and begin to climb the carpeted stairs.

 

My backtracking cost me some of my lead,

and I can now feel his breath on the back of my neck

and his outstretched fingers graze my waist and shoulders,

so I drop down and begin to scale the stairs on my hands and feet

for added speed.

I don’t make it too much farther before I feel his fingers close

around my ankle, my other foot still trying to kick and climb,

and my hands gripping two steps above my head.

I shriek delightedly and struggle, but now

I have to maintain my balance because he’s lifting my foot up

and turning me into a strange yoga tripod, removing my shoe

and throwing it behind him -

and then my foot is flooded with sensation, I feel his face

against it and he is nibbling the sole, scraping his teeth all up and down -

I laugh, lose my balance and try to jerk away, pull myself to a higher step,

but he has a firm grip.

My head is against the stairs now so I manage to flip over,

place my elbows on the stair behind me, and try to scoot up

and away, while he continues to tickle my foot with one hand,

pinching the skin gently with his fingers.

As I kick in my attempt to get away, he grabs hold of my other ankle -

my butt slides down a step and I feel entirely helpless now

with both of my feet up in the air,

held together against his chest

by one of his arms.

With his free hand, he peels off my other shoe.

Clunk. It lands somewhere below us.

 

Slowly, lovingly, he trails a single finger

in a wiggling ‘s’ across both of my soles

and I giggle and feel a spasm

between my legs.

“You have such a fun laugh,” he comments idly,

swishing his finger across my feet again

and making me squirm,

“I could listen to it for a long time…”

he lowers his face (I giggle with antici

pation)

and nuzzles my feet, first both of them,

and then one at a time.

My laughter reaches a higher pitch and cadence.

I clutch my hands to my chest

as I shake beneath him - his lips tickle much more

than the stroking and pinching of his fingers.

When he stops again, I emit another unconscious moan.

“Mm,” he says, separating my feet now and kissing the interior of my ankle

(placing my other foot on his shoulder),

moving his face up my leg and bestowing intermittent kisses

that make me giggle and twitch, “You like the feeling of my lips

on you...” It is half-statement, half-question - he doesn’t really

need me to tell him that I’m turned on, but I still murmur, “Yes,”

and then I can’t speak more because he is lingering near my knee,

having sensed an uptick in the intensity of my reactions there.

I giggle and kick my other foot as he kisses the crease

beneath my knee several times in quick succession.

 

“Aw,” he says in mock pity, steadying my other leg

that is still draped over his shoulder, now kissing

the underside of my thigh,

“I would feel bad for taking advantage

if it wasn’t so clear that you are

enjoying yourself...”

I screech with laughter and flail on the stairs

as he suddenly nibbles the skin

at the base of my ass and the top of my thigh -

despite my kicking legs (both on his shoulders now)

he is strong enough to hold himself steady underneath

the onslaught, and he subjects my other leg to the same treatment.

Weak as I am from laughing so much, I still manage

to pull myself two steps higher with my elbows.

He notices my feeble attempt to escape

and laughs that deep, throaty laugh

as his face passes over top of my clitoris -

I feel his lips brush it through my pants -

He lets my legs slide off of his shoulders

and scoops them underneath his own body,

climbing a few steps higher himself and then

settling on top of them.

 

I am pinned. He gets down on his own elbows

so that our faces are almost on a level -

his, painted and grinning

and mine, I’m sure, exhausted, sweaty,

and exhilarated.

His face is a few inches

above my ribs.

Sensing what’s coming, I cross my arms

over top of my stomach,

but he laughs again and shakes his head.

He pries them apart, laces his fingers through mine,

and then pins them on either side of me

against the stair

below the one that my head is resting on.

 

My blouse is already a little elevated over my navel

from all the slipping and sliding on the staircase.

I feel his breath on my exposed skin

as my stomach rises and falls.

He lifts my blouse up further with his teeth,

and that already starts me giggling

before he begins to kiss every part of my stomach -

each individual rib, my navel, the jut of my hips,

and the hollow above my navel and between my ribs.

I love the sensation of this man’s lips brushing

across my belly, my immobility beneath the warmth

of his legs and the grip of his hands.

I cannot budge an inch except to wiggle my torso

from side to side, which is only happening

in spasms as I laugh and laugh,

my voice squealing and squeaking

and going silent whenever he hits a particularly

sensitive spot.

 

“Please! Mercy!” I say breathlessly,

but breathless as I am, I don’t mean my pleas.

It just turns me on to beg in the knowledge

that my words will only spur him on.

But to my surprise, he does let up.

Crawling up and laying his head beside mine,

he murmurs near my ear,

“Mercy?” I tremble at the feeling of his breath

against my ear. “Here’s the mercy I can offer:

I know that if we stay on these stairs,

you’re going to need a chiropractor tomorrow.

I’m going to take you to my bed, where I fully intend

to continue exploring your beautiful, ticklish body…”

He traces a finger across my midriff

and I giggle and bury my face in his chest.

 

Gracefully, he stands up,

scoops my body effortlessly

into his arms,

and carries me to his bed.

 

 

 


End file.
